by Sarah Stribley

Created on: August 04, 2009   Last Updated: August 05, 2009

Excerpt From: "The Halloween Tree"

He sat down beside her on the red woolen blanket which she had spread on the lawn. She looked so peaceful and glowing in the warm afternoon sun.

A southerly wind stirred the bare branches of the old oak and quietly in the distance a wind chime tinkled pleasantly on someone's porch.

He traced a gentle finger along her arm and wished silently that days like this could repeat themselves all throughout the autumn. Quiet cool afternoons spent laying amongst the fallen leaves, the warming smell of acorns and gilt leaves burning brightly in some backyard, or the nostalgic sound of children laughing as they descended the steps of their school bus after a full morning's classes.

She stirred at the light touch of a leaf that brushed her hand as it swirled to the dry grey grass. Her eyes opened quickly as if she were startled from a trance and she stared blankly at the white sky above her.

"Were you asleep?" the question was whispered, he did not wish to break the spell about them.

She shook her head, the movement almost indiscernible. He brushed her flaxen hair away from her forehead and leaned closer as if to kiss her cheek but she turned her face away from his to stare sullenly at the weather worn picket fence.

"What were you doing?" Whispered again, but this time the words were steel edged.

A bleak silence flew between them for a moment before she answered.

"...Listening." her voice was soft as it drifted to him and he relaxed his body against the blanket.

She had these moods she went into, mystical moments where she became someone ancient, weighed down by wisdom. Yet her thoughts could be incredibly naive.

He decided it was best to amuse her. "To what, dear?"

She smiled like a cat. Her expression was dreamy and content.

"Nghhh." he smoothed her hair and waited patiently for an answer. "To the grass. To the grass as it's gently stirred by the wind."

He smiled to himself.

"Huh, the grass?" He said in a quietly skeptical tone.

She looked at him in bewilderment, as though the thought of listening to anything different were heresy.

"Yes." she replied. "Too often people take the music of nature for granted. They listen to the world; the roar of car engines, the tattoo of jack hammers. But they never take time out of their busy lives to sit and listen to the clouds roll across the March sky or the whisper of leaves at the soft caress of the wind's breath. I do that.." she sighed "Yesterday, I was lulled by the sound

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